From a young age, we are taught that betrayal is inevitable. Some may come to this realization after a close friend of theirs reveals a secret, or perhaps when one sibling tattles on the other for something they’ve done wrong. Initially, the impact of betrayal is often emotional. Likewise, either instantaneously or over time, trust once established with a person will then cease to exist. In my own experience, the impact of betrayal had come years later, concealing the raw cynicism I now carry towards my father.
He walked out on us on Veteran’s Day, 1994. My older brother, Peter, was five years old, and had just started kindergarten. I was about one and a half, only an infant. Peter gazed out the window of our front porch, watching our daddy shove the tired, red leather couch into the station wagon and drive away, as if the vows he’d made to our mother years before had never even happened. It was almost too easy for him to leave us.
Eight years passed, and our dad had found himself a fiancé named Christine. After numerous fittings and appointments, Peter was made a groomsman, and I became a bridesmaid. One overly extravagant wedding later, we were stepchildren. For the first couple of years, going to their house on weekends was effortless. That is, until we found out Christine was pregnant. I prayed for a sister. Nine months later, Joseph was born. When I first met him, his age could only be described as a matter of hours. As I stared into the bassinet, a pair of wide blue eyes stared back at me. In that same moment, a wide grin had manifested itself across his unblemished face. Whether it was instinctive or by chance, at that moment I had fallen in love. I never would’ve thought then that four years later, I’d have to explain to him why I wasn’t able to call Christine “mommy” like he wanted me to.
Two months before Joseph’s fourth birthday, Andrew was born. When I first found out, I was immediately relieved that he was fortunate enough to have Joseph as an older brother. He would be the emotional support to Andrew that Peter was to me. At that point in time, Peter was a sophomore in college, and had stopped taking part in the weekend visits to our father’s house. Not having someone there to confide in had taken its emotional toll on me, since he was the only one who could really empathize. Having no real reason to continue the visits myself, I made the onerous decision not to see my father anymore, unless there was a family occasion.
Somehow, my father has found a way to assure himself that what he’s done to our family wasn’t wrong. He’s got this twisted picture in his head of us all being one big, happy family. Lately I’ve been so miserable, because what he doesn’t recognize is the effect that such betrayal has had on my relationships. Whenever I meet someone, I either put up a shield or become too attached, deathly afraid that they’ll abandon me like he has. Not having a father figure in my life has caused me to develop a hole in my heart that I won’t ever be able to fill.
